Bistro Guillaume, Melbourne restaurant review

Author: John Lethlean
Photography: Derek Swalwell

I have this image in my head that won't go away. Picture this:
Gate 6 at Sydney's Mascot airport, early on a Monday morning. Our
travellers, still at least two espressos short of full operating
temperature, grunt their greetings as they wait for their plane to
board.

"What are you so happy about?" jokes Robert Marchetti from his
seat. "Share a cab at the other end?" Perry asks no one in
particular before burying his head again in the paper. And so
another working week begins for four of Sydney's best-known
restaurant identities. In Melbourne. Cabbie, take us to Crown.

It's a little personal fantasy. It may never actually happen.
But it's no stretch to say that, in the past few months, even
someone mildly Crown-averse would have found themselves strutting
the Yarra-side promenade on their way to a restaurant owned by one
of the Sydney crew. And, it's no stretch to say that all four have
been toiling away at their new and new-ish Melbourne outposts,
simultaneously. I've seen 'em.

First there was Perry's Rockpool Bar & Grill, which made
more than a fair fist of the Melbourne launch; then came Terzini
and Marchetti's restaurant Giuseppe, Arnaldo & Sons - the
relocation of a proven formula - and now there's Guillaume
Brahimi's new venture.

Instead of merely trying to transpose the high-end, New-World
French food of his haute Bennelong restaurant, Brahimi has taken a
nostalgic stroll through the bistros of Paris and attempted to
recreate the genre in a way that is relevant to Melbourne.

The riverside space, screened from the masses by broad, black
timber Venetians, is elegant but whimsical, mixing and matching
formal elements, such as white linen and parquet flooring, with
tongue-in-cheek touches such as the terrace-table light shades,
which have the printed fabric on the inside. A bit of fun. The
overall effect is special, rather than formal - not as special as
the equivalent in Bennelong but then this is a bistro; this is
Brahimi prêt à porter.

Recognising the limitations of the
one-man-two-restaurants-two-cities model, Brahimi has hired wisely,
wanting to reduce his susceptibility to accusations of the
restaurant being 'different when he's not there'. Fortunately,
manager/maître d' Craig Hemmings, himself from the 'big'
restaurant, exudes confidence and warmth, and has put together a
team of breezy yet efficient waiters on the floor. Head chef Daniel
Southern, who worked as right-hand man to the semi-legendary
Donovan Cooke at est est est and Ondine, joins pastry chef,
Philippa Sibley, who is widely respected by her peers, having just
left Circa, the Prince. (As a partner of the aforementioned est est
est, and Ondine, she was also once Southern's boss!)

It's little wonder the place has the feel of a restaurant that
has been open for years rather than mere months. There is a
sophistication about this bistro, a connection with values such as
manners, etiquette, and respect that manifest themselves the moment
you step inside. Things happen as they should.

What I like about this restaurant, however, more than the sum of
the preceding virtues, is the uncomplicated, fastidiously executed
food. And I think it's what a lot of Melburnians (and, inevitably,
visitors) will respond to, too. You can have your foams, spheres
and dirts; at the end of the day, very few diners have any interest
in progressive gastronomy. What diners really want is delicious
food, from a menu they can understand, served to them by someone
who shows respect and an aptitude for the role of service. Bistro
Guillaume is all of that.

You want a few oysters? The kitchen has some seriously
impressive Pacifics from Moulting Bay, near St Helens on Tasmania's
north-east coast, and they're placed on a bed of crushed ice in a
smart, classic white dish. The kitchen throws in a lemon cheek and
a dish of excellent red wine vinegar peppered with the finest dice
of shallot; and it adds little 'soldiers' of buttered rye
sourdough, sandwiched together. This is a wheel that needs no
reinvention.

The soupe du jour, soupe a l'oignon, is an outstanding version of
a timeless peasant classic; thick, dark, sweet yet pungently
savoury, scattered with Gruyère-smothered croutons at the finish,
so as not to go soggy, and, finally, scattered with chives.

The steak tartare comes with a tumbleweed of soft herbs and
shoots, crisp-fried lattice potato wafers and noisette bread,
but the hero is the chopped eye fillet mixed with Cognac, capers,
gherkins, Worcestershire, herbs and, undoubtedly, a few more things
besides. It is as magnificent, glossy, fruity and texturally
seductive a version of this bistro staple as you're likely to find,
built with first-class produce but to a 'no bells, no whistles'
specification. This is not magic food; simply cooking done from the
ground up with great produce, taking the time. Time-in equals
satisfaction-out. Nothing new about that.

Brahimi is young enough to be savvy about lighter, fresher
non-traditional traditional French dishes. Cream and butter, for
example, are used very sparingly and you can feel the difference.
It also puts a sharper focus on the ingredients themselves.

His plate of crudités defies the Aussie 'celery stick and
Philly' stereotype. Soft-boiled leeks are smothered in a vibrant,
finely chopped crumble of herbs, egg and vinegar with his sauce
gribiche; beetroot segments are rumbled in oil and vinegar
with a soft fresh goat's curd; finely shredded celeriac in a creamy
rémoulade comes on a toast round; and slices of tomato and avocado
with chopped chives and a balsamic reduction. Add mozzarella with
confit red pepper, pistou and toasted sourdough and you'll be more
than satisfied.

Depending on the day of your visit, there will be a plat du
jour; it may mean you must visit at least seven times. On Mondays,
the plat du jour is tripes à l'ancienne; one of those things that
defy food costs to be worth so much more than the sum of its
ingredients: a rich, yet light wet braise of chicken stock and lots
of onion, finished with a sweet carrot purée, chopped herbs and
halved boiled kipflers.

How they manage to achieve such flavour depth without the
ribbons of honeycomb tripe turning flaccid is anyone's guess. But
this rustic, un-embellished, taupe-coloured dish keeps both the
texture and flavour of this wonderful offal intact.

Among the steak frites and Provençal pork cutlets with potato
croquettes (accompanied by sauce charcutière) are several dishes
destined to never leave the carte. One is a boned, fried whole
whiting, presented on something like a mounted boomerang, with fat
chips (Pont Neuf potatoes) and maître d'hôtel butter. This is
Brahimi's fish and chips. The other noteworthy dish is his confit
duck. Duck preserved, then re-cooked this way can, of course, be
awful. It is sometime sublime. This version falls in the latter
camp, a reminder of why this traditional southern French staple has
wandered the world, winning friends wherever it has been done
correctly.

What you get from Guillaume's is a leg/thigh - the bone Frenched
- on a stew of Brussels sprouts and speck in a seed mustard sauce.
Around the rim is a light, glossy duck-based jus; just enough to
keep things in balance. The meat is tight, fragrant and slippery
with no trace of residual salt, and the veg… what's not to love
about Brussels sprouts and smoked pig? We ordered another as a side
dish.

The dessert selection has surely taken Philippa Sibley back to
her own days cooking in France; employing classic pâtisserie skills
for tartes and mille-feuilles, whipping eggwhites for soufflés, and
lighting up the blowtorch for honey and Cognac cassonade. They are
a pleasure I have yet to experience.

But, taking advantage of the season, the poires Belle-Hélène -
one of many 19th-century Parisian dishes that took its name from an
Offenbach operetta, apparently - is true to its heritage. You'll be
presented with a perfectly syrup-poached whole pear served with a
simply perfect vanilla ice-cream and a spectacular chocolate sauce,
poured warm at the table. It's a timeless thing of beauty.

Yes, I like this place a lot but cannot let the issue of wine
pass. Although Brahimi has employed a professional sommelier, and
invested heavily in his collection, he will find the downside to
the Melbourne audience (and he loves the upside of our cookery
knowledge and our inquisitive nature when it comes to produce and
technique) is a reluctance to absorb huge wine mark-ups on the
menu.

Melburnians will know which sausage is right for the cassoulet
and they will know what a particular Burgundy retails for. Once
you've done the math, you might be left with a sour taste.

Time and refinement at the restaurant may see the high road and
low road intersecting at Bistro Guillaume. Until then, we have yet
another delightful new restaurant. A reminder of the enduring
allure of well-made French bistro food. Made in Melbourne. By a
Sydneysider.